


A Friendly Little Chat

by schweinsty



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Is The Best Ship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implication of coerced underaged sex in the past, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, nothing onscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8205928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/pseuds/schweinsty
Summary: The morning after his near-drowning, Dylan realizes something's wrong with Jack and tries to get to the bottom of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT NOTE: This fic deals with the aftereffects of what's inferred to be coerced, underaged sex (the age of the person doing the coercing is never made clear, though it's older than the victim). Nothing happens onscreen, and it's only implied in dialogue.
> 
> On a lesser note, I realize a lot of my NYSM fic has dealt with these sorts of issues; I'm really not trying to trivialize or sensationalize it. Sexual assault is something I feel doesn't get treated seriously/well in a lot of professional lit, and I tend to work out my thoughts on that sort of thing through fic. And the setting for NYSM is one where it's easier to headcanon sexual assault being a part of character's backstories, because, well. Street hustler. So, I hope my touching on this topic in several fics here doesn't come off as creepy-weird. /rambling

Coming together as a family and toasting to taking Tressler and his son out of business is heartwarming and all, but warming Dylan's skin is another matter. He's still freezing cold, beat up, and absolutely exhausted, and the Horsemen look tired enough themselves. Li takes them to a safe house after trying and failing to get Dylan to agree to a doctor. He tells them to get some rest and he'll be back the next afternoon to get started on their plans. They've got to move fast; it'll be easier to take Tressler by surprise if he doesn't have time to plan for them.

Dylan manages to take a warm shower and rub a balm on the worst of his bruises before he falls into bed, but he's tired enough he doesn't check to see how the others are.

He wakes up to the sound of someone vomiting violently down the hall.

It takes him a second. He's usually quick on his feet, even when just waking-has spent the last two and-a-half years sleeping lightly, going to bed and wondering if he's going to wake up to agents swarming his apartment and arresting him for-well, for any number of incredibly illegal things he's done. The unfamiliar room, coupled with the lack of sleep he's had since the Octa show threw him, though, and he has to actually stop and think for a second before he remembers what's going on.

As soon as he does, though, he's out of bed and heading out to investigate. He winces at the movement; even with the balm, last night's beating took quite a toll, and he could really use some ice.

He didn't notice the layout of the house when he came in last night, but it's pretty straightforward. They're on the second floor of a three story house considerably longer than it is wide. He's in one of three bedrooms, each with two beds. He wonders idly, since he woke alone, who shared with Lula; all the rooms are empty as he passes them, though he spots Merritt's hat on one of the beds. There's a bathroom at the end of the hall opposite the stairs. The doors closed and whoever's in it has stopped throwing up, but Dylan can hear movement inside.

He taps on the door lately, so as not to startle them. "Hey, you okay in there?"

The rustling sounds abruptly stop. Someone coughs and flushes the toilet.

"I'm fine." It's Jack. The sink faucets turn squeakily, the water runs for a minute, and the door opens. "Just a little-Jesus, you look like shit."

Jack looks a little pale and clammy but otherwise fine, and Dylan really does feel like shit now he takes a moment to think about it.

"Yeah, I could use some ice packs," he says.

Jack, it turns out, not only knows where several cooling packs are in the first-floor freezer, he hustles Dylan back off to bed before he grabs them and tells him to kick back. He's only downstairs a couple minutes, but he comes back not just with several ice packs, but also with a couple of aspirins and a thermos of hot tea with honey, for Dylan's throat.

"We googled," he says, "And it said you'd probably have a sore throat. From the drowning."

Dylan doesn't shudder, but he probably stiffens up a bit. It's enough for Jack to notice. The kid looks him over and frowns.

"Shit, sorry."

Dylan shrugs. He lets Jack fuss over him for a minute or two. Kid seems almost practiced at this sort of thing, knowing just where to set the ice packs on Dylan's ribs and touching him so lightly that nothing hurts. The kid still looks kind of pale, though, and his hands might be steady but there's sweat beading on his forehead.

"Look," Dylan starts. "I really appreciate this, but if you're sick you should be getting some rest too. Is that why you didn't go out with the others?"

Jack's hands freeze, just for a second. He hides it well, but Dylan hasn't spent the last thirty years learning how to read people just to miss it.

"I'm not sick," Jack says.

"Sure." Dylan arches an eyebrow. "And I feel fantastic."

Jack huffs a laugh. It's tight, though. Strained at the edges.

“Seriously,” Dylan says. He pulls the ice pack off his eye and takes a long, assessing look. Jack's got the dark circles under his eyes and the slight hunch to his shoulders he always gets when he's tired. Except he got a full six, seven hours last night after Li brought them here from the shop. Jack's still young; Dylan stayed over long enough at the apartment and heard enough of Merritt's whining to know that Jack can pull a week of all-nighters and look fresh as a daisy if he gets five straight hours. "Something's wrong."

Jack scrubs his hand over his mouth. "It's nothing."

"Uh-huh.” Dylan heaves himself up and pummels his pillow into supporting his back. He points at the other bed. "Sit."

Jack bites his lip, throws several glances at the door as if looking for an escape route, and sits, as Dylan knew he would.

Dylan waits.

"Seriously." Jack looks down at his feet and sighs. "Look, it doesn't have anything to do with this. It's something I-I just had a bad memory. It's not a big deal." 

Bad memory? That could mean a lot of things. Dylan did his research on everyone he recruited before he brought them on, but they all had pretty rough lives, one way or another, with plenty of blank spots in all of their files. Jack's careful. He wouldn't lie or hide anything if it was something that could affect the group, but-but, dammit, he's not just one of Dylan's horsemen, not even just his responsibility, he's his friend. His family.

"You know you can talk to me." Dylan tries to give a sympathetic look, but he realizes it's a bad idea when his mostly numb eye erupts in pain again. He settles the ice pack back on it with a groan. "Any time. For anything."

Jack ducks his head and huffs. "Yeah, I know. It's just not something I really talk about. But...”

He trails off. Dylan thinks that's it and shuts his eyes, but Jack's not done.

"The others know. Well, not Lula, but Jack and Merritt, I guess. Figure you should too." He pauses. Dylan hears him scrub his hands across his hair. "I had a-when we first got together. It's the-it's the mouthwash. I hadn't thought of it in years. I, uh, used to work with this street magician. When I first got out of the-first year I was on the street. He helped me out, showed me the ropes and let me crash at his place most of the time. He-he wanted stuff in return though."

Dylan very carefully squints over. Jack's hunched over and staring at the floor, but the kid looks okay.

"It wasn't a huge deal," Jack continues. "It was just a shitty situation, and it was a long time ago. Anyway. They sold this mouthwash at the dollar store in packs of four. Cherry. He kept it in his bathroom, and I used to. Yeah. Sometimes when I taste the flavor it takes me back. That's all. I freaked out a little the first week I was with the Horsemen, and Merritt figured most of it out. But that's all."

"Okay." Dylan waits a moment, until he sure Jack's done. "You sure you're okay?"

Jack nods this time, and he looks up with a tired smile. He flops back onto the bed so his legs hang off it. "I'll live. You? The others went to the pharmacy and to grab a couple things. Merritt said he'd get you some decent painkillers."

Dylan settles back down and stifles a groan. "Wake me up when they get here."

When he looks back over four minutes later, Jack's asleep, chest rising and falling, steady and deep. Dylan takes his lead and follows suit.


End file.
